And though Dorothy busied herself in finding the despised nickel, her swiftly deepening color told her sister that she, too, had recognized their fellow-traveller whose calm features showed no trace of the surprised delight he felt at again seeing the face of the "violet-girl," as he termed her in his thoughts. He only gave a severe, scrutinizing glance at the shade of his window, carefully lowered it about an inch, and then returned to his paper, reading over and over and over again how a certain Mr. Somebody had become the benefactor of his race through selling shoes to men for three dollars a pair. Yet, in spite of his steady reading, he kept saying to himself how strange it was that the fair-faced Violet-Girl should cross his path on this the red-letter day of his life--the setting of whose sun would leave him so much better off financially than it had found him in the morning. And he could not help thinking how much sweeter his good fortune would seem if there was someone to share it with him. If his mother had not left him, what soft, silky, flowery pillows and spreads her couch should have; what rich, dull rugs! But the almost surreptitious care bestowed upon her grave was all that he could give her now. Yet he could imagine how those appealing eyes over there would widen with surprise and dance with pleasure if one she cared for brought a story of endeavor crowned with success. He wondered what her name was. He knew her family name, for he had heard someone at the church corner, on Sunday, refer to them as "those Lawton girls," and had winced at both tone and words. And the Lawton girls, meantime, were discussing the probable result of their visit to Mrs. Van Camp. "I'm afraid the chances are against you," said Dorothy, anxiously. "You know how she goes on about family. 'Old families and the proprieties' are words of sweetness to her, though she is as gay as a girl and as droll as a Merry Andrew--on occasions. 'The stage'--only two words--but when spoken in relation to Mrs. Van Camp's god-daughter, Sybbie, I'm afraid you can't manage her." "She won't need managing, Dorrie. She's mercenary to the point of worshipping Mammon, but, thank heaven, she never meanders as mamma does, who wanders away from the subject into tortuous and serpentine courses. No manoeuvring will be required with God-mother Sybil. I shall marshal my facts, dwell upon the honor of being introduced by Miss Morrell into the profession--she has professed the greatest admiration for her all her life--and, as she knows already our unspeakably helpless condition, I'm sure she will come to a quick decision. Oh, mercy! They are already lighting the gas. How I do detest the tunnel! I always come out so sticky and prickly about my face and neck--and grimy, too!"